


I'll Never Smile Again

by thewickedloki



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewickedloki/pseuds/thewickedloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wanted to feel something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Never Smile Again

When he went to the bars and clubs late at night, the sounds throbbing against his eardrums and the scents of dozens of different perfumes and colognes mingling to assault him with every breath, he expected to feel... something. The Winter Soldier would never have stayed in a place like this—too many variables, unclear pathways to the exists, compromised senses—but maybe Bucky would. He still wasn't sure what to call himself. Maybe James? Bucky was the man who had lived in Brooklyn with his skinny, sickly roommate, who'd charmed every woman he met while scrambling to figure out how he'd be able to manage scraping together the money to take them out. Bucky was friendly and outgoing. Bucky smiled. Bucky sang. Bucky fell asleep in the grass during long summer afternoons.

Did he know who Bucky was?

The bodies that ground against his awakened thoughts that normal, healthy people shouldn't have. He considered how fragile they were, how little pressure from his left hand would break their skin, bruise them, end them. He considered how difficult it would be to escape here unseen, but that was the point, wasn't it? He was here so he couldn't be an assassin, and if he was lucky, so he could be a human being again.

Lips and teeth brushed and scraped against his skin, and he allowed it. Voices breathed against his ears, fingers tugged at the sleeves that must be so warm and uncomfortable, palms slid across the glove that didn't make any sense here, legs pressed against his thighs. Alcohol and sweat, sugar and laughter writhing under flashing lights and pulsing electronica.

Was this where Bucky was?

_A dark-haired man with striking blue eyes came to these clubs a lot. Did anyone know who he was? His left arm was always covered up. Maybe he had some sort of condition. He always had people hanging all over him, touching him. Men and women. Did he touch any of them back? Nobody could remember. Did anyone ever go home with him? Nobody could even remember seeing him leave. Nobody could remember seeing him arrive, either, now that they thought about it. Who was he?_

The walk back always felt cold. Anything would feel cold after so many living bodies pressing against each other. The Winter Soldier knew this without bothering to think about it. It made the skin more sensitive to the slight changes in the air, so that he could even taste the change in the environment when there was another person in the vicinity. His ears were still ringing. That would hinder him. He had to rely on the vibrations against his chilling skin, the movement in the corners of his vision. His hearing would return to normal soon. It always did. He healed too fast to have lasting auditory damage.

Bucky wouldn't think like this.

The apartment was large. He was used to a room, maybe with a mattress on the floor, or maybe with just a blanket. There were soldiers above or below, but they remained above or below. There were no open doors through which visitors could walk, calling him by name and looking at his face.

Everything was familiar in the apartment, but that was hardly a surprise. Whenever he was in a room, he memorized every inch of it. He knew where the floorboards creaked, how many holes in the wall had been painted over, which windows didn't quite lock. Here, he had also memorized the correct volume for the stereo system when an iPod was plugged into it versus when it was tuned to the radio. Someone was always plugging the iPod in with different playlists to help keep The Winter Soldier at bay. Someone was always changing what was on the device, and he'd stopped trying to anticipate it. He just pressed play. This was just another mission.

Bucky wouldn't think about missions.

_Steve tensed every time he heard the door open, waiting for what felt like the inevitable loss, for the third time. He'd already said goodbye twice, how many times would he have to do it again? But he couldn't think like that, not if he wanted to stay sane. He'd insisted on this living situation. It was better than letting them shove him into a cell that doubled as a petri dish so they could observe him and run tests on him. This felt more like a home, albeit a strained and alien one. That had to be better than the alternative, no matter how many of Steve's nights were a mess of sleepless anticipation now. It was his turn to be the caregiver._

The sound was oddly familiar. He stared at the speakers for a long time trying to place it. He listened closely to the lyrics before looking at the iPod screen.

_I'll never smile again until I smile at you._

Frank Sinatra. He knew Frank Sinatra.

_I'll never laugh again. What good would it do?_

Bucky knew Frank Sinatra.

_Steve had to cover his mouth with his hand when he heard the music. He never thought he'd hear Bucky singing again._


End file.
